Has it really been two weeks since my last post? Ah well, I better put one up now, just so that I can continue to read my own writing. The last two weeks have been busy week--the battle of the bug, a flurry of paper, and getting stumped on a short story are the highlights.
The battle of the bug was more "bug" than "battle," actually. Last Saturday, as we were finishing up getting ready for bed, I was done with my toilette and was lying on the bed reading, while my wife was finishing up. Suddenly, I was jerked out of the world of George R.R. Martin by a loud gasp (I get the feeling it would have been a scream if our daughter weren't asleep upstairs). Sitting up immediately, I asked Megan what was wrong.
"Oh, just sit up and look," she said, stage left. I did so, and saw what could only be described as a hockey puck moving slowly across our carpeted floor. Thankfully, it was moving very slowly, and so my brain immediately realized that it couldn't be a cockroach. I approached the piece of sporting equipment carefully, a glass in hand. It was a bug, a black beetle with exceptionally long legs and a hard carapace. Moving nonchalantly across our rug, he seemed to be heading toward our closet--no doubt to commit suicide by hiding in a pair of my shoes (ok, they don't smell that bad, but still). We slipped a thin calendar under him, and placed him, and the glass, on our countertop to be dealt with on Sunday morning. That night, I couldn't get up without thinking I would step on something crunchy . . .
As for the flurry of paper, we purchased a new desk--actually a convertible sofa table that folds out into a sort of writing desk. Transferring our mail to the sofa table has resulted in small piles of paper where you least expect them--on the couch, on bookcases, ottomans, and elsewhere. Of course, we don't put any paper on the floor, because our daughter loves, I repeat loves, paper. Or more specifically, the taste of paper. So we're careful about what we let drop.
And the short story--it's for a contest where I can win, if chosen, the fabulous prize of $50, and the only requirement is that it start with the phrase "It was a small box, but . . . " And so I ask you, dear readers, what sort of story would you tell that began with a phrase like that?
BillG
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8 comments:
...the dead man's head still barely fit."
Okay, that's a little morbid, but it's better than anything involving a ring, for example ;-)
Good to see you back in the blogging world, BG, and thanks to you and your fam for the helpful conversation :-)
kwinkie have you seen the movie "seven" lately? and it's a picture, not a kiss, that is worth a thousand words. at least last time i checked.
"...the rent was still barely within my meager budget."
"...the cat parts all fit easily with room to spare."
"...the necessary but agonizing process of swallowing it, and later retrieving it from within my own tired body, brought back memories of bygone fraternity days."
All those lines are too predictible. So here is my suggestion:
"...apparently not small enough." Which begs the question: why was it not small enough? Who is the judge of the correct size and will Henry discover that his dead wife is alive and pregnant with his "dead" twin brother's baby? I must know and I must know now!
... the bug, a black beetle with exceptionally long legs and a hard carapace, fit.
"...still not big enough to hold my impatience at Billy Gray for not posting pictures of his baby girl." Shall I assume that, like the Katie-Holmes-Tom-Cruise baby, yours is simply too unsightly to be photographed? ;-)
All right people, enough of leaving me out of the loop! How much fun have I missed? Totally indig here. Billy, your blog is great and funny. I intend to visit it, if I may.
So glad it took Tony's bday to keep me up to date (pout), love to Megan, and avoid the entymology,
Sincerely!
Muffin Moorman
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